


My Thoughts Are Stars I Can't Fashion Into Constellations

by Lady_Cleo



Series: A fault in our stars, a crack in our universe [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Anniversary, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Parallels, River Song Appreciation Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>some angst-y crossover fluffiness for River Song (and the Doctor) Appreciation Day. aaaand the Elever/Mattex Anniversary.</p>
    </blockquote>





	My Thoughts Are Stars I Can't Fashion Into Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> some angst-y crossover fluffiness for River Song (and the Doctor) Appreciation Day. aaaand the Elever/Mattex Anniversary.

It's been a long day. She's sitting on the edge of her bed, trying to decide if she's tired enough to fall asleep, when her mobile rings. There are days she completely ignores the stupid thing, but something gives her pause. Maybe it's the way the fans have been so cute, saying how much they love River and wishing her 'happy anniversary' all day. Maybe it's the scrap of hope she still retains that it might be him. _Someday_ it has to be... even if it hasn't been for a while.

"Hello?"

"Happy Anniversary, wife!"

She lets out a giggle, and falls into her most River-ish purr. "Oh, sweetie, how sweet of you to remember."

There's a moment of silence on the line, where she imagines she can _hear_ his gulp, but he's back and being his typical flirty self before she can blink twice.

"Right, Kingston- like I could forget the best day of my lifetimes. They were all happening at once, so I should know." She giggles again at that, and he's just absorbing the sound- ignoring the little pang in his chest when he hears it.

"You'd been married before, darling," she reminds him, and somewhere in the subtext exist the words _and so have I._ But she doesn't know which way they're playing this, which "them" they are right now.

"True, but I'd never been married to you. _And_ I never got married again, so you  must have been it for me," he declares in such a 'that settles it' tone that she shakes her head, even knowing he can't see her.

"Whatever you say, dear." Another short silence stretches until he clears his throat. The noise startles her into moving the phone away from her ear, and she misses the start of when he starts talking again. There's a thought already in progress by the time she gets her hair out of the way.

"Anyway it just didn't seem right not to call. I had to give you a ring somehow to mark the occasion, didn't I?"

"Well you didn't on the day. Not sure why you'd start now."

He lets out a little squawk of indignation. "Oi, I resent being made to seem like a chintzy spouse! You had a bowtie! _And_ there was that honeymoon that went on and around for the better part of a century. All over time and space- I put the bloody universe at your feet, woman! Most brides are lucky if they get a week at a hotel. And don't get me started on putting up with your _parents_..."

She's doubled over, barely keeping a grip on the phone she's laughing so hard- but a surge of Pond loyalty spurs her to break in. "Oh please- you love your in-laws!"

He's fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice, but she can still hear it as he admits that he does. "After all, they gave me you. It's just not the husband-y thing, though, is it? To get along like that with in-laws."

Wiping her eyes, she concedes that it's not. "Still, it's the mark of a good man to try. And the sign of **good** husbands if they actually do."

"Must be why the others..." His voice doesn't trail off so much as stops, like he's snipped off the words in his mouth with a scissors. But the bit she's heard snaps her out of their fantasy flirtation and back into reality like a hypnotist waking a volunteer.

"Must be why the others... what, Matt?"

"Nothing, Kingston. So, the other reason I call-"

"Must be why the others, _what..._ Matt?" She cuts him off, not sure why she's so determined to know. There's something about it where she already knows she won't like any answer he provides. But she pushes anyway. "Come on. Tell me."

"Alex, I really don't-"

"Tell. Me. Now."

His answer is quiet, reluctant, full of little hesitations. "It was just... it must be why the others didn't last with you. (sigh) Not that they didn't get on with your parents- although I _know_ they didn't. But because... they weren't, you know. Good men. Or husbands, for... that matter." Against her will, she sees him in her mind's eye- eyes downcast, probably scratching his cheek in that adorably nervous way he has.

"Well, I'm the one that said yes, so what does that say about me?"

"Alex, no! That's not what-"

"But it's true, isn't it? I'm the common factor. Even my _characters_ don't usually get happy endings. So what does that say about me? About the men I choose to fall in love with?" _What does it say that I chose to fall for y-_ but no. Even to herself, she can't admit  that one.

"It says they're idiots!" His explodes through the phone. A deep breath and he continues, a bit more controlled- though not exactly calm. "A man _does_ have to be a little crazy to fall for you, but he'd have to be **insane** to let you go." _And I should know- I did both._

"Great. Then I'm a magnet for crazies who never love me back," she mutters unhappily.

The silence drags, taut and thin like steel wire, until he tries again. "Well... the Doctor _is_ a madman with a box." At the sharp intake of breath on the other end, he knows he's made the wrong choice.

"The **_Doctor_ ** wasn't a good husband- and you wouldn't be one either!" _Oh God. Why did I say that?_ Annoyed at her stupid, spur of the moment parting shot, dimly aware of his voice calling her name, she decides she needs to get off the phone-  **now.** She jabs at the screen to end the call then flings the mobile at the wall, satisfied at the explosion of plastic that occurs when it hits. She can get a new phone tomorrow. She can Skype with Salome tomorrow.

Her shoulders slump. Her feet prop up on the bedframe. Her elbows set on her drawn up knees. Her head drops down into her hands.

She can pick up the pieces of her broken heart again.... tomorrow. 

* * *

 

On the other end of the line, Matt stares at the phone. _Connection Lost_ is flashing on the screen. _Yeah. N_ _o kidding_ , he thinks bitterly as he presses the mobile into his forehead. It's easy with Kaz. It's easy with Arthur, if less frequent. Team TARDIS has grown regrettably apart- the effect of schedules and projects and Cons and not being on hand together for months at a time.

But at least he makes an effort with the former Ponds. Darvill texts him about his show, in which he was brilliant because Matt saw him twice. He and Karen message a few times a week, and he'd gone to her premiere in LA, promising to hold her hands during the scary bits.

Karen and Alex Skype a lot and go shopping. Arthur emails her about stage work and new music, and flew himself to see her in the Scottish play, and she'd found herself in New York in time to see him.

But him and Alex? It's always been tricky. They adored each other, but rarely spoke outside work. They could light up a room (or threaten to burn it to the ground) with their chemistry, and they banter just as freely off-screen as on camera. But without a TARDIS in the background or a devious Scot on hand to push them together (Karen and Moffat filled the bill equally) they've come to a stop. The drift was slow but sure, and when he finally noticed, he wasn't sure how to get back.

He's tried letting it out in little ways. A bouquet of the fluffiest flowers he could find sent to her dressing room when she was working with Branagh- even if he'd left the card unsigned beyond "Break a Leg". The things that have come out of his mouth the last six months still make him cringe, even if they were true. His 'never-expected-to-be-taken-seriously' suggestion about changing the title of his movie... had been taken seriously. And now he has to look at call sheets and web pages that list him as "Matt Smith- _Lost River_ " like some bloody sentence.

But he doesn't just get on a plane on his days off and drop in. He doesn't borrow someone's Twitter account and declare "hi. I'm Matt Smith. I don't have twitter. I love Alex Kingston. please let her know." (Even though it's only 84 characters if he did.) He doesn't pick up the phone and call or text her whenever he gets the urge. Granted the line rings both ways, but he understands why _she_ doesn't call; he's never given her a reason to.

He's an idiot. Matt puts the phone down before he flings it at the wall.

He sits, staring at the little blue velvet box in his other hand. One of these days, he'll stop being such an idiot. One of these days, he'll get over being such a bloody **coward** and just go throw himself at her feet; his heart's been there for years- it's only right she get the rest of him too.

* * *

Far above the earth, in a blue box rotating lazily through the stars, a man and a woman watch the scene unfolding on their monitor. The image is black and white, the quality a bit grainy- but she can make out the tears sliding down the cheeks of the woman on the screen.

A tiny hand is on the monitor before she's aware of moving, as though she wishes to reach through and wipe the tears away.

"Oh, Doctor," she breathes unhappily. "How sad."

Knowing the gravity of the situation but not wanting to distress his wife further, he keeps his voice quietly teasing. "Well, that's what I get for letting _you_ pick the movie."

She doesn't turn to face him, like he hoped, but she does nudge backwards with her shoulder, colliding with the side of his chest and making his twin hearts beat a little faster. He can hear the smile in her command to shut up.

"Is there any way... I mean, you can't tell me if-"

"I'm afraid not, River. You know the rules." She turns her back on the monitor, walking away a few feet to rest her elbows on the railing. Her head falls into her hands. He whips out his Sonic and scans the screen quietly, grateful for the sudden extra-loud rumble the TARDIS gives to cover the noise. Snapping it in his hand, he reads the display, frowns. The TARDIS gives a little mournful whoosh, and he clicks the Sonic closed, pats her console consolingly before turning to his wife.

"Think they'll ever figure it out?" Her tone is slightly worried. She knows she shouldn't care, but she does.

He pockets the Sonic and wraps his arms tight around her, nuzzling into her hair. "Spoilers, dear. But I wouldn't worry too much. After all," he said, turning her in his arms to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, "we did."

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hit me. I've been overwhelmed with feels from all the Mattex/Whovian tumblr feeds today. then I got the itch to write this.  
> hope you like it. feel free to leave a comment either way.


End file.
